I'm typing this post from Lamu House. A place that is reminiscent of a film whose title i cannot remember, but it was in a little spanish village. Homely, intensely romantic, simply furnished in Safari and a variety of African decor and amazing food. Infront of me is the sea, waves crushing softly, I am barefoot because Steve Biko says it is like Zen to be barefoot in Lamu. I notice a few other barefoot people walking across the little street that separates the Lamu House patio restaurant. There's a plane taking off not too off in the visible Manda Island, perhaps the dash 8 belonging to Fly540 that takes us back home tomorrow. I hope I have managed to make you sufficiently jealous. But. I wasn't made for the sea. I just had a boat ride. It is a big deal because it was a rough ride. I hate deep waters. Deep means anything beyond 4 feet deep. Meaning my head must be above the water when i stand in it. I am 5ft 1. Finally, I understand what raging water...
Chronicles of a former Business Journalist | Believer of the African Dream | Mother | Lover of Life| Poet